


The Whole Orchestra

by hutchynstarsk



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is having a bad day, sensorially-speaking.  Blair tries hard to help.  They eat breakfast and go fishing.  Takes place during season one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Whole Orchestra

**Author's Note:**

> Hm, importing this work seems to have removed all italics. :/ To read the originally formatted version, go here: http://hutchynstarsk.livejournal.com/289836.html
> 
> This is my first posted Sentinel work and takes place in season one.

 

Not my characters.  All made up. Any mistakes are my own. This is my first posted Sentinel story, my second one written.

 

 

 

**The Whole Orchestra**

By Allie

 

Blair stirred the oatmeal and regarded its gummy brown mass in the dimly lit kitchen.  Curtains had been drawn across the loft's many windows, filtering everything down to the dim light of early dawn, even though it was well past nine a.m.

 

Jim had been having sensory difficulties, and, after finding coffee too strong to drink this morning, had gone back to bed in disgust and defeat.  Blair had gone up to try to talk to him, but Jim stayed in bed, saying his senses didn't want to be turned down, and would Sandburg please leave him alone now?

 

It was Jim's day off.  If he wanted to stay in bed, it was certainly his right.  "I'll dim the lights, okay?  I'll air the coffee smell out.  And I'll make you a really simple breakfast, okay, Jim?" Blair had offered.

 

He'd grunted.  From anyone else, that might be discouraging, but Blair knew what he meant was 'yes, please do that.'  So Blair had dimmed the loft, aired the place out, and begun cooking the blandest breakfast he possibly could.  Oatmeal cooked without milk, sugar, or even a hint of salt.  Eggs without any spice and only a little bit of butter.  Fresh water and milk so Jim could choose between them.

 

He stirred the oatmeal once more and moved off to grab a bowl.

 

"The oatmeal's done, Sandburg!" called Jim irritably from his bedroom.

 

"Oh.  Thanks, Jim!"  He checked it and found the edges beginning to crisp.  He turned it off hastily and moved it to a cool burner.  Then he globbed a goodly portion out into the bowl, set it, a spoon and the eggs and cups of milk and water on a tray.  Carefully, watching his step in the dimly-lit loft, he headed upstairs.  "Breakfast's ready!" he called cheerfully.

 

"And keep your voice down," grumbled Jim.  He punched a pillow, but he sat up as Blair entered the room.

 

"Hey buddy.  Any better?"  Blair handed him the tray and smiled hopefully.  It was dim up here, too, but he could clearly see Jim's scowl and the lines of stress and exhaustion on his face.

 

It had been a difficult week.  Long hours with frustrating results, a case that hadn't gone to prosecution because there wasn't enough evidence, enough chance to convict.  So a perp had walked.  Jim always took such cases to heart more than he should.

 

"Let me see that."  Jim took the tray and turned it around.  He regarded the meal critically.  "No toast?"

 

"Oh, man.  I forgot.  I'll get you some.  You want butter on it?"

 

"No.  Plain.  And don't burn it!"

 

Blair thumped down the stairs, followed by Jim's voice, rising to reach him from afar.

 

"Don't forget to make yourself something, too, Chief!"

 

He's cheering up already.  Blair smiled in satisfaction.

 

Blair put two slices of whole grain toast in the toaster and set the temperature carefully.  He made himself tea for caffeine; not as strong-smelling as coffee.  He hummed a little as he dished himself some oatmeal.  Added a liberal quantity of cream and sugar and stirred.  He started frying

another egg, added lots of salt and pepper.  It seemed like a shame when Jim couldn't even enjoy such a simple indulgence as salt and pepper on his eggs.  "Jim, you want any spices?" he called.

 

"No!"

 

He shrugged, humming as he flipped the egg.  Soon, he was thumping back upstairs with a second tray in his hands, holding his breakfast and Jim's toast.  "Here ya go, big guy."  He handed over the two pieces of toast and sat down on the floor cross-legged to eat his own meal.

 

"You sound like a herd of elephants coming up the stairs," grumbled Jim.  By the looks of things, he was already more than halfway done eating.

 

"Oh, man, you've never heard elephants!  They're much louder than me."

 

"Sound like one when you blow your nose, too."  Jim crunched on the toast.

 

Blair ate his oatmeal and eggs, and the piece of toast he'd made himself, too.  "I'm gonna go to the university, catch up on some working.  Unless you need me here?"

 

"Do what you want."

 

"Hey, man, don't be like that.  We can go through some exercises, first.  I'm not going to leave if you need me here."

 

"Do what you want," said Jim, slightly less sullenly.  "I can always call."

 

"Yes.  Yes you can."  Jim pointed his spoon at Jim.  "I want you to remember that.  And then do it!  Don't play tough guy with me, because I'm here to help.  Remember that."  He dug into his breakfast, scraping his bowl.  "Man, I'm a good cook!"

 

Jim snorted lightly, but he sounded more amused than annoyed now.  "That was pretty good."  He set the tray aside and stretched out on his bed,

hands behind his head.  "I could really taste the oats.  Surprised you can enjoy it, drowning in cream and sugar."

 

"Do you smell it, or did you just hear me when I added them?" asked Blair, curious.

 

"Both."

 

"Man, you are amazing!"  He shook his head, snorting a little and smiling.

 

"It doesn't feel so amazing right now, Chief," said Jim quietly.  He sounded resigned and oh so weary.

 

"I know.  It's about this week, you realize that, right?  Your senses are going haywire because you've been so stressed.  And now when you have time to rest, your body is refusing to be ignored any longer.  It's taking its revenge.  Haven't you ever worked really hard and then gotten a cold or the flu on your first day off?  It's like that.  Your body saves us its agony sometimes until you can rest.  I know it's not any fun, but if you listen to it now, maybe you can get back up to speed and not risk having any negative reactions like this when you're working.  When it could be a life or death situation."

 

"Yeah.  I get it, Chief.  Just wish…"

 

Blair put down his spoon.  "Hey, you want to go fishing today?  I'll come along."

 

"Thought you had work to do?" said Jim halfheartedly.

 

"Well, it can wait.  After all, you need somebody with you.  What fun is fishing alone?  I'll even drive if you want."

 

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Chief."

 

Blair laughed.  "Just checking.  But you know, I don't mind driving once in a while if it would help.  Now let's work on getting those senses dialed back so you can make it on the drive out."

 

For the next several minutes, they concentrated on calm, deep breathing, and visualizing exercises.  Jim managed to get his sense of sight and hearing dialed back part way, though not as far as he'd have liked.  They got together their things for a camping trip, Blair threw together a few sandwiches, making Jim's as bland as possible, and packed thermoses with ice water.  Then they headed out.

 

Jim wore sunglasses and even so, he squinted against the glare of sunlight.  He wore a perpetual frown and lines on his forehead, tapping the wheel irritably as he drove, flinching a little from sounds of nearby traffic and car horns blowing.

 

"It'll be all right, Jim.  You're doing great."  Blair laid a hand on his arm.

 

"Yeah?  Why doesn't it feel like I am?" muttered Jim.

 

"Jim, you've got to learn to give yourself a break, man!  You don't have to be on and in control all the time.  You don't have to hold onto everything so tightly.  You need to learn to let go.  Accept setbacks, you know?  Take a deep breath, and let it out.  You're doing great, I'm telling you."

 

"I can't do that, Chief.  If I take a deep breath, all I get is traffic fumes and I want to gag."

 

"Roll up your window.  We'll put the air conditioning on."

 

"It's not hot enough for air conditioning."

 

"I know, but it'll clean the air."  He suited actions to words.  Soon, the soft hum of the A/C filled the F-150s cabin, along with cleaner-smelling, if slightly canned, cool air.

 

Jim was clearly breathing easier within a few minutes.  The lines on his forehead were also diminishing.

 

Blair waited till the traffic was nearly clear and the driving easier.  They were getting into the country now, emptier roads and less stop-and-start

traffic.

 

"Jim, can I ask you a question?"

 

"Sure, shoot."  He kept both hands on the wheel, scanning the road with the sort of hyper attention he almost always used, driving or not, dangerous situation or not.

 

"Don't you miss being able to eat spicy food?  I mean, man."  He shook his head.  "I would seriously hate to be without flavor in my food, the way you had to eat your oatmeal and eggs this morning."

 

"What are you talking about, Chief?" muttered Jim, sounding distracted but calmer than he had been, even a little thoughtful.  "I could taste everything.  I could taste the kind of soil and water that grew the oats and what they fed the chickens.  I tasted every bit of flavor in those foods, so rich without anything extra."  He snorted.  "I taste more than you ever could.  You feel sorry for me I didn't have to cover them up with cloying salt and sugar?  That's one note flavor.  I taste the whole orchestra."

 

"Oh, man."  Blair shook his head, laughing and grinning.  "That is awesome.  The whole orchestra.  You are something else, Jim!"  He made a few quick notes on his tablet, then shoved it away in his backpack, pleased to see Jim was smiling a little now, looking slightly proud of himself.  "Maybe you can tell me what other foods taste like sometime, okay?"

 

"Okay, Chief."

 

Partway to the river, they turned off the air condition and opened the windows, letting the clean, green-smelling air sweep into the truck.

 

"Jim?" said Blair.  "Don't zone, but if you have enough attention to spare, can you tell me what you smell?  I'm just curious."

 

Jim sent him a quick glance.  "Don't let me zone," he warned.

 

"I won't."  Blair kept a close eye on his partner as Jim took deep sniff of the

fresh air.  The look on his face was thoughtful and sort of peaceful, too.

 

"I can smell the river from here.  The water smells clean and fresh.  There's a trace of fish guts.  Something must have caught and eaten a fish recently.  I can smell the trees, and poison ivy, and flowers in the meadow.  I can smell birch and maple trees and the cool smell of the forest.  I can smell a fox that passed near here sometime ago and marked its territory, a male."  He took another sniff.  "Somebody had a picnic of ham sandwiches not long ago, and there are fresh rabbit droppings in that hedge we just passed.  Also, the blackberries are nearly ripe."

 

"Oh, man, oh man."  Blair shook his head.  "You are really on today!  That is amazing.  And you didn't even zone."

 

"It helped to keep talking," said Jim modestly.

 

"Sometimes I wish I was you.  You have such an amazing gift."

 

"Don't," said Jim.  "You'd regret it."  Then he added, quietly, "I'm glad you're you."

 

Blair felt a big, goofy grin spreading across his face.  "Thanks, man!"  He punched Jim lightly and playfully on the arm.

 

"Ow," said Jim.  "Watch it!  Touch is still pretty high right now."

 

"Oh, sorry.  I'm sorry.  If you take your shirt off, make sure you wear sunscreen, okay?"

 

"It's not that hot," grumbled Jim.  "It's not that warm yet."

 

"I know, but the sun, and your skin…"  He shrugged.  "Hey, it's your skin, man."

 

"I don't want any of that chemical crap on my skin.  It's sickening and cloying, and smells like bananas."  He made a face.

 

"Hey, I thought you liked bananas!  I got the kind that says 'natural!'"

 

"Well, find something more natural next time.  I'm not wearing that."

 

"Hey, whatever, man."  Blair raised his hands, slightly grimacing.

 

"Don't give me that look," said Jim mildly.  "I warned you how I am about things like that."

 

"I know, man.  I know.  I'm just not used to it all yet!  I'm trying, honestly.  Um, hey, certain people groups on islands in the pacific use coconut oil as a sunscreen.  Maybe I can buy you some of that.  It's completely natural, and if it works for you…"

 

Jim grimaced.  "I don't know if I want to smell like a coconut, either."

 

"At least give it a try!"

 

"All right.  I'll give it a try."  He braked.

 

"Why are you stopping?  Is it something I said?  Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

 

Jim gave him a slightly pursed-mouth look.  "We're here, Einstein."

 

"Oh."  Blair laughed shakily and climbed out of the truck, grabbing some of the gear.  The two men headed down to the water and stood at its edge, listening to the hubbub and babble it made.  "It's rushing along pretty good today," said Blair.

 

"Yeah," agreed Jim with satisfaction.  He sounded peaceful and open.  "Let's not talk for a while, okay?  I want to just let my sense rest in the surroundings, sort of open up without any worry about focus, okay?"

 

"You have to focus when I talk?"  Blair blinked, surprised.  Somehow he hadn't thought…but of course, all of Jim's senses had been a battle today, and they'd been talking in ordinary tones pretty much since morning.  It must've been a real struggle for Jim to keep his hearing toned down enough for normal conversation.  But he hadn't complained or told Blair to shut up.

 

"Okay," he agreed.  "I'll go dig some worms."

 

He took a trowel and headed off to find a soft area of dirt.  Finding a bit of bark and old leaves, he nudged them aside and set to work.  Blair wasn't squeamish about insects.  You couldn't do much in the field anthropology work without getting past certain engrained niceties.  He'd even eaten bugs before; he certainly didn't have a problem with digging them up.

 

He let the big, fat centipede run away, though, after waving its tentacles at him menacingly.  No need to get bitten, especially when he couldn't remember if they were poisonous or not.  He reached up to slap at a mosquito bite, grimacing at the little prick in his skin.  Did bug bites hurt Jim more than most people?  He'd have to ask, when they could talk again.  He rubbed at his neck, grimacing as he realized he'd probably left a muddy hand print there, and then gathered up a handful of worms slowly.  It was intricate work, calming work.  He wondered if Jim had ever eaten bugs in the jungle.  How many food-related inhibitions had Jim needed to change to survive?  Society was all about agreed-upon food-related inhibitions, but sometimes survival was all about unlearning them.

 

I wonder if he ate any endangered species to survive.  I wonder what they tasted like to him, with his heightened senses.  He said he could taste from the eggs at breakfast what the hens had eaten.  Man, maybe it would be a good idea to invest in organic or free range eggs.  Maybe he only tastes it on bad days, though.  I'll have to ask….

 

He took his worms, climbed into his waders, and headed over to the stream.  Jim was already hip-deep, just standing there, watching the water flow past.  Blair walked in after him, swaying as he reached the deeper water, balancing in his waders and feeling the force and strength of the cold water even through them.  For a moment, looking at Jim's powerful but completely still shoulders, he wondered if the cop had zoned.  But no, as he reached him, Jim turned and gave him a small smile, holding out a hand to accept some worms.

 

Blair returned the smile, forcefully keeping a hold on his words.  He had so many things to say, and it seemed like even more since he couldn't say anything right now.  Like it had all gathered up like a stream dammed by beavers.  Boy, when Jim said he could talk again, it was probably all going to come bursting out at once, and then the big guy would be sorry!

 

Maybe I can just write it down and get out my thoughts that way.  Man, I'm cooking today.  Questions and theories out the wazoo…

 

Then he snorted.  Jim would say, "Wazzoo is right, Chief," and give him that fond but exasperated look that seemed to say, 'Why don't you just shut off that brain of yours for once?'  But it wasn't that easy for Blair.

 

He gave it a good try, though, as he stood beside Jim, attempting to fish.  He got his line tangled once, then snagged some weeds, then almost tripped over his own boots, and eventually, caught a minnow and threw it back.

 

Jim seemed content to cast in a rhythmic fashion and sometimes to just stand still and stare.  He was clearly well aware of his surroundings, and didn't seem to be zoning.  Blair tried to tune in, too, to let himself hear and smell and see as much as he could.  Birds twittering.  Sunlight dappling through leaves.  Clean, clear air and the soothing babble of the stream.  It must be like heaven to Jim, who could sense even more.

 

At noon, they headed back, still without talking—Jim gave him a quick couple of hand signals to indicate returning—and Blair smiled and nodded.  He felt clumsy and heavy in his waders, heading ashore.

 

They spread out the picnic.  He carefully handed over Jim's sandwiches, the plain ham and cheese, and ate the more flavorful ones himself.  Hot peppers warred pleasantly with salami, ham, and Swiss for room on his tongue.

 

After eating, Jim stretched out on the grass and closed his eyes.  He didn't move.

 

Blair cleaned up the picnic and sat down by the stream, watching it go by and writing in his notebook.  He could hear Jim's deep, steady breathing behind him.  It was comforting.  He scribbled away some more, enjoying the break, the chance to indulge his imagination and record his thoughts properly instead of letting them slip away in distraction.  At last he breathed deep, set his book aside, and stretched, enjoying the pleasant pull of muscles that had been still too long.  He reached up to swat and rub at another mosquito bite—found too late, as usual—and then headed back to the truck to put his book away.

 

Jim was just waking up as he walked past, blinking sleepily.  "Hey," said Blair.  "Did I wake you?"

 

Jim shook his head and smiled faintly.  He closed his eyes again, stretched his arms over his head, grunting a little, and rose smoothly.  "Ready to head back, Chief?"

 

"Yep.  You?"

 

"I think so."  Jim took one last, long look at the water, and then climbed into the truck.  "It was a good idea, Chief.  Thanks."

 

Blair watched him.  "Are your senses any better?"

 

Jim put the truck in gear.  "Yep.  Much better."

 

"You can still hear and smell all that stuff from earlier?"

 

"Only if I want to.  C'mon, what do you say to Chinese takeout and movie night?"  He gave Blair a nice, calm smile.  "We'll rent a movie and everything."

 

"Really?" asked Blair.  "That's not too spicy for you?"  He tugged his seatbelt across his chest and clicked it into place.

 

Jim gave him a disapproving look.  "I didn't say we'd rent a spicy movie, Chief."

 

Blair laughed.  "No, no, man.  I meant the Chinese!"

 

"I think it would hit the spot," said Jim.

 

"And you'll tell me where all the ingredients were grown?" persisted Blair.

 

Jim laughed.  "Maybe not today.  I'm just glad to have everything dialed back again.  I'd like to keep it low for a while, just relax."

 

"And how about breakfast tomorrow.  What do you want me to make for you?"

 

Jim laughed again.  It was a nice sound, when he was relaxed enough to laugh.  "I think," said Jim, "tomorrow I'll make breakfast."

 

Blair grinned.  "Okay!  I can go for that!"  He rubbed his hands together.  "How about tongue?"

 

<end>

 

Author's Note:  It happened.  I regret nothing; this was a lot of fun to write.  Actually, I need to practice writing sensory details anyway, and The Sentinel requires a lot of that, so it's very educational.  Yes.


End file.
